


so play on, play on, play on

by carissima



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “Gonna give you the cup first,” Alex says, still too close. He’s in Nicke’s space like he always, always is. He’s grinning and Nicke’s grinning because they finally won the goddamn cup but his head is spinning now. “Brooks already had cup. Your turn first.”





	so play on, play on, play on

**Author's Note:**

> i had a lot of feelings, okay?
> 
> thanks to jarka for the super quick beta, love you!

They win the Stanley Cup and Alex kisses him.

Nicke’s pretty blown away by both of these events since they happen within the space of about five minutes. He’s still trying to process actually winning the Cup, like, they’ve finally fucking done it and Alex kisses him.

He shouldn’t be surprised and yet he is. It’s a simple brush of lips against his cheek, Alex’s beard tickling his skin, and it’s on the ice in front of the team, in front of their fans, in front of the goddamn media.

“What,” Nicke says, his voice raw from yelling. He feels like he’s been yelling for hours, or weeks, maybe months. Hell, he’s been yelling for 11 years. “What was that?”

“Gonna give you the cup first,” Alex says, still too close. He’s in Nicke’s space like he always, always is. He’s grinning and Nicke’s grinning because they finally won the goddamn cup but his head is spinning now. “Brooks already had cup. Your turn first.”

It hadn’t been spinning before the kiss. His mind had been crystal clear, focused, centered, just like it’s been since he was a kid and decided that he was going to play hockey forever. Then the final buzzer went and they’d won the whole damn thing and all that concentration apparently flew out of the building, assisted by Alex and his incredibly poor timing.

God, he’s so not surprised. Of course Alex chose this moment to kiss him.

“Alright,” Nicke says. He buries his face into Alex’s neck for a moment to compose himself, whether from winning or the kiss or because Alex’s going to hand him the cup, he’s not sure.

He just needs a second.

“Okay,” he says when he lifts his head. He’s aware that he’s still smiling, all big and dumb-looking probably, but there’s nothing he can do about that right now. He just won the Stanley fucking Cup and he’s happy. He’s so fucking happy.

He watches Alex pick up the Conn Smythe and hand it off almost immediately because they both know it’s not the trophy he wants in his hands right now.

“Everything take so long,” Alex complains next to him, his whole body bouncing in anticipation.

“We’ve waited this long,” Nicke says placidly, even though he’s as antsy as Alex is. He’s just better at hiding it.

“Too long,” Alex grins, because finally they can joke about this, apparently. Now that the wait is over, now that the uncertainty that they’d ever be here, doing this, is gone.

When Alex lifts the Cup, Nicke has to quickly swipe his hand over his eyes. Even if he didn’t know Alex as well as he does, even if he hadn’t hasn’t been right by his side for every crushing end of season after season, cupless and full of disappointment, he’d still see what every other person sees because Alex wears every emotion on his face.

“Nicke!” Alex is screaming at him, his lap over as he glides towards the team. “Nicke!”

Nicke lets himself laugh as he pushes off on his skates and meets Alex in the middle. “All these screaming fans and you’re still the loudest.”

“How else you gonna hear me?” Alex says and holds the Cup for Nicke to take. It’s solid and heavy and it’s the best thing Nicke’s ever held in his life. “Have to make sure you first to get Cup.”

Nicke holds the Cup up high, the pain in his finger momentarily forgotten as the dream he’s had for so many years comes true.

“Alex,” he says. It’s quiet and it’s the only word he utters but as he starts to skate, he can see Alex in his periphery. Then Alex is right there next to him as they turn to face the team. “Alex?”

Alex takes hold of the Cup and helps Nicke finish his skate, passing it over to Brooks together. “Your hand,” Alex murmurs, quiet now as he leans in close.

“It’s fine,” Nicke tells him. They both know it’s a lie.

They lose each other in the crowd, both of them taking interviews and Nicke hugging every teammate he sees.

“Nicke! Nicke!”

He’s feeling indulgent as he turns to Alex, who’s bearing down on him with the Cup firmly in his hands. “Picture! We take a picture!”

“Of course we take a picture,” Nicke says, reaching for the Cup. They stand together with only the Cup between them and mug shamelessly for every camera and phone in front of them.

Alex gets pulled away, taking the Cup with him and Nicke shakes his head and throws his arm around Burkie’s shoulders as he passes by. “Did you see the girl?” Andre says immediately. He gestures to his own chest, his eyes wide.

Nicke laughs helplessly because tonight, everything seems amazing and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. “Ja,” he says and ruffles Andre’s hair. “I saw.”

It’s another hour before they leave the ice, Alex bellowing at Nicke to come with him to the locker room. There’s speeches and yelling and a lot of champagne and beer being consumed and twice as much being sprayed around the room.

“You drink,” Alex says, shoving the Cup filled with champagne at Nicke. He tips the Cup and Nicke opens his mouth without thinking and takes a long drink. He’s drenched by the time Alex lets up, hair slick with sweat and champagne, and it’s the best drink he’s ever had. It tastes like success. It tastes like winning. It tastes like a dream.

The entire night passes in a blur after that. There’s food, more champagne, walking through the MGM with the Cup, more champagne, dancing, emotional hugging and through it all, Alex is at the center of everything. Nicke blearily wonders, sometime after 2am, if it’s because he’s their captain. He wonders if Alex is at the center of everything for anyone else. He wonders, when he stumbles into bed past 5am, if Alex kissed anyone else.

He buries his head in his pillow and hopes someone wakes him up before their flight home.

*

Alex is already on the plane when Nicke gets onboard, Cup and Conn Smythe in front of him as he lounges in his seat, slumped low but grinning widely at everyone who walks past.

Nicke drops into the seat opposite him and lets his legs stretch out.

“You lost?” Alex teases. “Your seat over there.”

Nicke raises an eyebrow. “This seat taken?”

“No,” Alex grins at him, eyes crinkling.

“Well then,” Nicke says and reaches out to touch the Cup just because he can.

“You keeping an eye on the Cup, Nicke?” Alex asks softly.

Nicke looks away from the Cup, beautiful though it is, and turns his gaze to Alex. “Took me this long to get it,” he says and lets his hand slide away from the cool metal. “Wouldn’t want to lose it now to a reckless Russian.”

Alex lets out a booming laugh. “Not so reckless these days, Nicke.”

Nicke thinks about the kiss. The brush of Alex’s lips against his cheek, in front of the whole world. “Foolish, then.”

Alex grins at hm and nudges his foot against Nicke’s under the table. “Probably,” he says with a shrug. “You keep a close eye on the Cup then. Make sure I don’t lose it.”

“Or break it.”

Alex’s grin widens.

*

There are cars waiting for them at the airport since they’re all too hungover and tired to drive. Nicke can barely keep his eyes open but he watches Alex’s car disappear before he slips into his own.

“Address?” the driver asks. Nicke’s already given him an autograph and taken a photo, managing a weary smile.

Nicke doesn’t second guess himself when he gives the driver Alex’s address.

*

The gate to Alex’s place is open and when Nicke climbs out of the car and sees Alex leaning against the doorframe, watching him, he glares. “Still reckless,” he mutters loud enough for Alex to hear. “You just became the most popular guy in the city and you’re leaving your house wide open for anyone to walk in?”

Alex’s bags are visible in the hallway, untouched. “Just a little reckless,” Alex says easily. “You still looking for Cup? Is safe here.”

Nicke dumps his bags next to Alex’s and yawns. “You promised me that Cup 11 years ago,” he says.

“Foolish promise,” Alex interjects, shutting the front door and closing the outside world away. He presses a button on his security panel and they watch the front gate close.

“Most things you do are foolish,” Nicke points out which earns him a tired smile. “You promised me that Cup and I waited a long time for it. Our Cup.”

Alex smothers a yawn and suddenly it feels like the weight of the season, the weight of years of expectation and all the emotions they’ve run through comes crashing down between them. “Okay,” he says and starts walking. Nicke follows him up the stairs and to his huge master bedroom. “Well, I’m going to bed. Being Stanley Cup champion is tiring.”

The Cup is sitting on Alex’s dresser and Nicke isn’t sure who he bribed to let him keep the Cup but he’s not surprised to see it here.

When he turns back around, Alex is stripped down to his boxers and moving to draw his curtains. Nicke swallows and starts stripping off too, climbing into bed before Alex and throwing three unnecessary pillows away before he’s even close to being comfortable. Alex slides in next to him. It’s still the middle of the day yet he can barely make Alex out in the darkness of the room.

Alex’s hand slides over his hip. “You drunk still?”

Nicke huffs out a laugh. “A little. You?”

“Maybe some,” Alex admits and Nicke can hear the smile in his voice.

Nicke turns to face him, his eyes adjusting enough that he can make out Alex’s face. “I wasn’t drunk when you kissed me,” he says evenly.

He can see Alex’s grin, could see it even if it were pitch black. “Me neither.”

They’ve won the Stanley Cup and Alex kisses him again. This time, it’s on the mouth and this time, Nicke kisses him back, his hands in Alex’s hair as Alex rolls Nicke onto his back and covers him with his body, one thigh pressed between Nicke’s. Alex kisses with skill and with enthusiasm and he makes happy little noises into Nicke’s mouth that make him want to smile and groan at the same time.

It’s intoxicating.

But he’s also tired, worn out to his very bones, and he’s far too weary to deal with Alex right now. He breaks the kiss, presses another tiny one to Alex’s cheek when he protests, and shoves Alex off of him.

“You couldn’t have waited?” Nicke asks grumpily. He rolls over onto his side, facing away from Alex but close enough to tangle their feet together. “It’s been 11 years and you couldn’t have waited another day or week and let me enjoy winning the Cup? You had to make it about you?”

Alex curls up behind him. “I made about us,” he says and Nicke promptly shuts up. Alex is half-spooned behind him, near but not close enough so Nicke huffily grabs his arm and pulls it over himself, tugging until Alex is pressed up against him, close enough that he can feel Alex’s breath against his skin.

“Big day,” Alex murmurs behind him. “Win Stanley Cup, kiss Alex Ovechkin.”

“Shut up,” Nicke says, and falls asleep, their hands locked together.


End file.
